


This is no light

by 43degrees



Category: Vundabar (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27324223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/43degrees/pseuds/43degrees
Summary: Vundabar vignettes of 2020





	1. reminders

**Author's Note:**

> i typically don't like to post fics if i don't have a clear end in sight but everything seems endless right now including the 'rona so maybe it's okay to leave this fic at a question mark.

Sometimes Brandon gets mad at himself when he thinks about how resistant he was to befriending Drew back when they were kids. If he hadn’t been, if he had given in to his Dad’s attempts at making him befriend their next door neighbour’s kid of the same age as him, then he would have just a little bit more time with Drew. Just a little bit more history to pack on the already heaving shelves. Days upon days of their time together, goofing around, making each other laugh, getting serious with music, getting serious with surviving. 

He couldn’t have gotten through the Covid crisis without Drew. 


	2. broken

They want to do it right. For the people they care about. For the wellbeing of strangers, too. They seal each themselves in their respective rooms and they aren’t meant to see each other face to face for two straight weeks but Drew breaks the rules when he forgets to tell Brandon that he was staying up late drawing on the couch. Which Brandon is secretly thankful for because he wasn’t sure how long he could go on separated as they were. Drew’s flat screen smile just isn’t the same. 

Brandon leaves Drew’s heads up note open on his dresser and Drew doesn’t say a thing.


	3. early

For a few strange days, he’s not sure if he’s even allowed to work at the bar. No one knows what’s going on. No one knows how bad it really is. Or they know, but they don’t want to know. They pretend. And that is, sadly, how it will be. People pretending. Ignoring. Endangering. 

He still has a new record to make. Doesn’t want to get caught in a rut that a too-long break can cause. He gets up at a reasonable 8am, just in time to stand in front of the small window in their kitchen and watch the hearse driver pull onto the street. The driver comes back a little later each day, and each day Brandon is a little more disheartened.


	4. reassurance

“What if you were trapped somewhere, like genuinely trapped not because of the ‘Rona but like,” Drew pauses, letting a loud truck pass down the street below before continuing, “You know, like a freak hiking accident where some dude gets stuck in a cave. He’s spent months surviving on drinking his own piss and eating moss, and pushing a rock that’s covering the entrance barely an inch a day. He finally makes enough room to squeeze out and escape and he finds his car. Still works, battery’s a little low but it’s good enough to take him back into town. He stops at a gas station and the clerk’s wearing a mask. Keeps his distance. He’s like, alright, that was weird. Keeps going. Gets home but as he pulls up to his street he notices everyone else doing the same thing. Wearing masks, social distancing. He’s like, did the fucking apocalypse happen while I was stuck in a cave??”  
“Bold of you to assume that everyone’s following the rules out there,” Brandon says.   
“Yeah but even a few of us doing it would freak this guy out, right? He might even think we’re in world war three.”  
“Got nuked,” Brandon says, “And now everybody’s gotta wear this gear. And nobody’s explaining what’s going on because he can’t get near enough to ask.”  
Drew runs his hands through his hair. “Dude, like how long could someone go thinking that we’d been nuked. It’s genuinely what you’d think if you didn’t know the world was dealing with a pandemic.”  
“I don’t know. He might be lucky to have encountered people who actually care enough to wear masks, social distance... “  
“Yeah.”  
Drew’s face does that thing where his lips draw close and his eyes go foggy. It means he’s started to think about something else so deeply that he has already removed himself from the current conversation.   
“We’re gonna be okay, Bran,” Drew says.   
Brandon throws a glance at Drew, surprised. “Yeah,” he says, but it’s hollow. He repeats the word with a confidence that mimics Drew’s, “Yeah.”


	5. duty

They had gigs rescheduled for the fall but it becomes clear that they can no longer go ahead with it at all. It’s beyond heartbreaking. He should be thankful that the bar wants him to work a couple of shifts but he can’t stop thinking about how social distancing, mask wearing, hand washing -- nothing’s really enforced. Someone could accidentally give it to him, and he could accidentally pass it on to someone else. But he needs the money and needs to feel like a real person, so maybe he’ll take the shifts. Maybe he has to, to pay the rent.


	6. crooked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for self-harm

Drew lies on his stomach on the couch. The upper half of his body hangs off the edge, the top of his head presses against the carpet.  
“It’s pretty gross under here,” Drew comments.  
Brandon’s trying something out on the keyboard and doesn’t answer him straight away. “I’m gonna do some frantic deep cleaning.”  
Drew twists around onto his back and looks at Brandon upside down, his glasses on his forehead. “Frantic deep cleaning.”  
Brandon plays a couple more keys. “Yep. I’m gonna clean the grout off the tiles in the bathroom.”  
It takes him five days. Five days of scrubbing the gaps between the tiles with a toothbrush. His mom would be so proud. He didn’t take a photo before he’s standing there at 2am on the gleaming immaculate tiles. Tiles whiter than his teeth except for the neat drop of blood right in the centre of one of the tiles. Brandon lifts the blade away from his thigh and marvels at the perfect dot. It’s kind of exquisite, and it should stop him. But it doesn’t. 

He feels the cold of the tiles rising through his body for a couple of hours. Then cleans up the mess on the floor before Drew can find out. It’s best if he doesn’t know, it’s not like he’s relapsing. It’s just a hard year.


	7. shopping

They run out of instant noodles and bread and cigarettes and Drew loses paper, scissors, rock. When he gets back, he kicks his shoes off at the door and fully sanitises himself, head to toe, including all contents in the shopping bag too.  
Brandon springs into their little kitchen and helps put the slightly slimy, alcoholic-smelling goods away, keeping his distance from Drew just in case. Packs of noodles go in the cabinets above the bench, the pasta packets go in the cupboards below, the flour goes wherever Brandon decides to put the flour today, the cigarettes go on the counter and one goes in his mouth.  
“I forgot the corn kernels.” Drew says, his eyes shrivelling to the size of raisins in his skull.  
“You forgot the corn kernels!” Brandon repeats, pulling out the cigarette from his mouth.  
Drew’s face wipes clean. “Alright, baby,” He says, rolling up his sleeves and then deciding to unroll them for protection. “I’m going back out there!”  
Brandon smooches the air, farewelling his best friend into the throngs of the city. Next time he’ll be brave and maybe he’ll feel like he deserves Drew.


End file.
